The Detectives
by MarthaMyDayTripper
Summary: It's the swinging 60s and when Charlotte Lucas goes missing on a trip to London, Elizabeth Bennet descends on the city in order to find her best friend. She is quickly dragged into the twists and turns of the city's crime-ridden underbelly, but arguably the biggest pain in her neck is the very handsome – and unbearably old-fashioned – detective in charge of the Lucas case.
1. Chapter 1

Elizabeth Bennet had been in London for just under a week, during which time she had been living with her aunt and uncle in Cheapside.

It had been nice seeing them, but the whole time she had felt the weight of Charlottes disappearance pressing down on her - a fact she thought her aunt could tell. It hung over her like a storm cloud that promised heavy thunder, and distracted her from everything else.

Until she knew what had happened to Charlotte Lucas, the world could hold no joy for her.

Her stomach twisted every time she thought back to how excited Charlotte had been about her trip to London. It made her hate the grey streets, although when she thought rationally she knew it was the people who walked them who were to blame.

The things she would do when she found those people...

She was thankful for the money she had saved over ten summers working for her aunt Mrs Philips at her tea room, coupled with the allowance given to her by her father, because it was just enough to rent a small room of her own. She had found the perfect hole-in-the-wall for her on Meard St in Soho. She would get a job too; at the roughest bar she could find – the sort of place where she could make connections or overhear things she shouldn't.

Of course, her family did not know the real reason she had come to London. Even her father would have put his foot down if he had known, and he normally trusted her enough do her own thing. No, as far as the Bennet family was concerned, she was in London to take a course at the Royal College of Art. Trying to tell as few lies as possible, and with a genuine interest in design, she would be taking the course as well. However, this was all background noise to her.

Finding Charlotte was the main priority.

The Gardiners thought she would be moving into a dorm nearer the university, and it was better that way. She had said her goodbyes to her aunt and uncle earlier in the day, kissed her little cousin's adieu, and got on a bus headed for Soho.

She looked out the window at the dirty streets, thinking about her friend. The police had been useless, Charlotte's poor father had said as much. The man in charge, Fitzwilliam Darcy, the detective chief inspector, didn't seem bothered enough about a missing country girl to make many inquiries. He had even suggested that she had run away on her own. Certainly, the aunt she had been staying with – Mrs Jane Lucas – had said Charlotte had packed her bag and left of her own volition with a man that night she had vanished. But she wouldn't have just left like that, with no goodbye.

'Where are you, Charlie?'

Her breath misted up the windows of the bus as she whispered her question towards it.

Sadly no answers miraculously appeared in the condensation.

Lizzy knew her friend well enough to know that she would never willingly cause the people that loved her this much pain, and it made her sick thinking about all the terrible things that could have happened to her.

There was definitely something wrong, and she was going to find out what.

She was going to find out what happened to Charlotte Lucas, even if she died trying.

And that might mean breaking into a certain DCI's office.

Lizzy let her head fall into her hands with a sigh.

_Hi guys, this is my first attempt at writing fan fiction - so I would really appreciate all the support you are willing to give! Please Like/Follow/Favourite - and especially comment! Even if you hate it please comment as getting the notification is very exciting. Love, Martha _


	2. Chapter 2

She had left her dank room in Meard St, which she had decided to nickname Murk St, to explore the dirty streets of Soho. She thought it would probably have been a good idea to lay low for a while, but thoughts of Charlotte prevented this. She had spent most of the week that she had been instructed by her parents to spend with her aunt and uncle doing surveillance in various areas of London.

She had decided to focus on Soho because in the one letter Lizzy had received from Charlotte before her disappearance, she had spoke about the wonders of Carnaby street and her plans to spend most of her free time in London enjoying them. She had given the letter to Charlottes father to give to the police, but it had been returned only a week later.

God, the DCI seemed like an absolute bastard.

Nerves at breaking into a police station had weighed on her mind since she had decided that she really should try to see the case file relating the Charlotte. On her first day in London she had walked outside of Scotland Yard, looking at the security. On her second day she had borrowed a female officer's uniform from the back of an unlocked car.

However, her uncle – who worked for the Mayor of London – had spoken about a large conference taking place at the Yard on the 18th of September that seemed like the perfect way in. Large amounts of people wandering about who the police didn't know but to a certain extent had to accept as being allowed to be there. Through her uncle she knew quite a bit about the Mayors office too, having encouraged conversing about it as much as possible once this ridiculous plan had formed in her head.

This was why, waiting for her on her bed back on Murk St, was a navy work suit. Mary Quant would have sighed if she had seen the length, but not the fit. Lizzy had borrowed it from her sister Jane and the skirt in particular therefore fit her a little snuggly – perhaps bordering on the inappropriate – but it was the swinging sixties after all.

Perhaps the swingingness of it all had yet to reach Scotland Yard or the Mayors office though.

After dodging through a few bars and bathed in a variety of lights that to any respectable civilian would spell trouble ,she decided to head home and get an early night before her adventure's tomorrow.

Adventures that came too quickly, and before she knew it, she was standing around the corner of Scotland Yard, waiting for a large group to enter the police station.

Large enough that she could just slip in with them unnoticed.

There didn't seem to be too much security considering it was Scotland Yard, but then – she supposed there weren't many people trying to break into the police station, it normally went the other way around.

She tried to think about the worst that could happen – thinking about her own ability to blag her way out of tricky situations made her both smile and feel more confident about what she was about to do.

That being said, it was through sheer luck that she managed to get in through the front doors without notice. A large group of office workers were lining up to get in at the same time as a very angry pair of prostitutes were dragged by two haggard officers. The officers in turn were followed by a few people in plain clothes that didn't seem to fit the description of policeman – so she guessed they must be witnesses.

The crowd welcomed a tall girl, with pale skin, dark brown hair and even darker eyes without question, despite her tight skirt. They were all funnelled through the entrance quickly, the officers obviously trying to clear the corridor before things could get any more hectic.

Soon she was walking briskly down a corridor, without having any clue where she was meant to be going. She just guessed if she walked like she knew where she was going, nobody would try and stop her.

It was working beautifully until a door opened and she was almost sent flying by a very tall, and very handsome man with three pips on his shoulder. He looked surprised and instinctively reached out to catch her, his arms wrapping around her waist pressing her flush against him.

They stared at each other a second longer than necessary, and upon recognising this he set her on her feet and stepped away.

'I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going.'

Except, she wasn't sorry – she had enjoyed the feeling of his arms around her far too much for that, and her smile said as much.

Seeing this his eyes hardened, and he was about to open his mouth to say something when a voice echoed down the corridor.

'Darcy! We are running late, I said we would meet them in the Peel Room.'

Now it was Lizzy's eyes turn to harden, although as he had turned to look at his friend, she did not think he noticed. Instead, she excused herself and continued moving down the corridor.

He did not stop her, and when she turned her head before turning the corner, she saw his retreating figure.

She waited five minutes before turning around and walking into his miraculously unlocked office. It was a relatively large room that was made a lot smaller by the sheer number of filling cabinets that filled it. It was made bearable by the large first floor window that filled the room with air and looked directly down onto the street below, the shutters fluttered in the gentle breeze that blew softly through them.

She descended on the filing cabinet with a silent vengeance that came from having four sisters and an insane mother. Finding a cabinet marked 'L' she fell to her knees, and opened the lowest shelf – flicking through flies until she came to an irritatingly thin one labelled 'Lucas, Charlotte'.

She pulled it out and quietly shut the drawer, but before she could give it a look the door opened again and shut loudly.

She stood up quickly looking at the intruder and moved instinctively back towards the window.

Darcy froze, staring at her in anger and surprise.

'What are you doing in here?'

He blocked the door, his eyes not leaving hers.

'Would you believe me if I said I was lost?'

He shook his head solemnly.

'Who are you?'

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to shake her head.

'I'm sorry, but my parents always taught me never to give my name to strange men.'

He didn't seem to find her very funny, and in order to illustrate this point took a step forward.

'I won't be spoken to like this in my own office.'

'What are you going to do to about it officer? Put me over your knee?'

Another step forward.

'That doesn't entirely seem like a bad idea.'

She let her eyes run up and down his body.

'You know if I didn't hate you so much, I would find that entirely too tempting.'

He remained impassive but his left eyebrow seemed to twitch slightly.

'If you aren't going to tell me who you are, then I'm going to arrest you – you've even saved me the trouble of bringing you in.'

'As much as I love handcuffs, I'm going to have to decline.'

They moved at the same time, like bullets out of matching starting pistols. He lunged forwards to grab her arm, but by the time he reached where she had been standing seconds before – Elizabeth Bennet was halfway out the window.

She hit the ground with the grace of someone who had spent their entire childhood climbing irresponsibly tall trees. The hem of her skirt tore a little, but she was too busy sprinting away from Darcy's window to notice – Charlotte's file clutched tightly to her chest.


	3. Chapter 3

As she ran down the street, she heard Darcy shouting behind her, and in her panic ran straight out into the road. Her life flashed before her eyes as a bright red mini came within an inch of springing her mortal coil. Luckily, the plucky little car managed to swerve just in time.

Without thinking Elizabeth jumped into the passenger seat that had rather neatly presented itself to her and turned to the pretty girl clutching the steering wheel in wide-eyed horror.

'I'm so sorry! I'm not used to the London roads.'

Elizabeth turned away from the girls trembling voice, to glance behind her.

'Don't worry - you can make it up to me by driving as fast as you can in that direction.'

Elizabeth pointed down the road more dramatically than she had originally meant to, almost flattening herself over the dashboard.

The girl, perhaps more out of shock than anything else, obliged with unexpected gusto.

So much gusto, in fact, the she ploughed through a busy zebra crossing.

Elizabeth yelled as she turned around to check that the pedestrians were uninjured.

'OK! OK! Calm down!'

'Who are you? What are you running away from?'

The girl turned nervously to look at Elizabeth before flicking her eyes back to the road.

'It's a long story.'

Elizabeth had spoken cautiously, but couldn't mistake the way the girl's eyes had lit up slightly at the word "story".

'I have time…'

She spoke shyly, eyes again flicking to Elizabeth and then back to the road.

Elizabeth gave her an appraising look.

The girl was incredibly pretty. She was a lot shorter than Elizabeth, but they looked like they must be around the same age. She was fashion itself – with her miniskirt, wide eyes, long black lashes and straight brown hair. She looked like Jean Shrimpton, albeit a less-confident, jumpier Jean Shrimpton.

Something about her wide-eyed jumpiness, coupled perhaps with Lizzy's dwindling adrenaline and stress induced exhaustion, made her instinctively feel like confiding in her. She also felt a little bad for jumping in the poor girl's car and treating her like a taxi as punishment for not killing her.

'My best-friend has gone missing, and I have come to London to find her. I just broke into Scotland Yard…'

It sounded mad when she said it out loud. The girl, however, stared at her with wide eyes – only turning her eyes back to the road when Elizabeth pointed across the dashboard and yelled "PEDESTRIAN!".

'Really?'

Elizabeth, eyes resolutely watching the road in front of them in the hope the girl would do the same, nodded.

'Wow… that's amazing!'

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to stare at her with wide eyes.

'I just broke into Scotland Yard?'

'Yeah, but – you are on a case aren't you! You're like Sherlock Holmes. A heroine trying to rescue her best-friend.'

'I wouldn't really say I was like Sherlock Holmes… I have always been more of a Poirot girl myself.'

'I think Mr Allen would describe that as being a little unpatriotic.'

For the first time since Charlotte had gone missing, Elizabeth found herself laughing.

'What's unpatriotic about it? Christie was more English than Conan Doyle.'

'_What_?'

'Conan Doyle was Scottish.'

'Oh – that's alright then. But Sherlock Holmes is English, like you – so it makes more sense.'

That seemed to settle the matter, and Lizzy didn't care enough to continue the discussion further – as ridiculous as it was.

'Whose Mr Allen?'

'He's my godfather! I'm living with him and Mrs Allen now that I have a job in London.'

'What are you doing?'

It felt surreal to be having such a normal conversation with a girl whose car she had essentially commandeered as a getaway vehicle. The girl, for her part, seemed to have forgotten all about her initial shock – she was so excited at meeting a real-life heroine that everything else seemed to have been wiped from her head.

'I'm working as a secretary for a law firm near St James's Park, I always forget its name though. I start next week.'

'Good to know, the time might come when I need a good lawyer.'

'Oh! I don't know if they are good lawyers, I will have to ask Mr Allen.'

'I would be more interested to know your opinion once you have started working there.'

The girl looked a bit nervous about this, and audibly gulped.

It was at this moment that Elizabeth looked out the window and realised that they were leaving Hyde Park behind them.

'You can let me out here.'

The girl looked a little disappointed, but carefully indicated before pulling over by the side of the road.

'Thank you for everything. By the way, my name is Elizabeth Bennet. I hope you won't give me up to the police, you have made such a wonderful getaway driver.'

Horrified the girl prostrated that she would never do such a thing, before blushing aggressively and holding out her hand.

'I'm Catherine, Catherine Morland.'

_Hope you have enjoyed the first few chapters - please let me know what you think! Love, Martha_


	4. Chapter 4

Fitzwilliam Darcy had found it difficult to leave his office that night.

He had sat there for hours mulling over the events of the morning, and flashes of the beautiful woman with fine dark eyes kept appearing tantalisingly before him.

It was infuriating. It was embarrassing.

It was all he could think about.

She was all he could think about.

He had spent the rest of the day going through all his files, checking to see if anything was missing. It had taken three hours of rummaging before he realised that it was the Lucas file that was missing.

As he walked to his house on Grosvenor Square, he tried to recall the details of that particular case. As far as he could remember, the girl had run off with her lover.

He went straight up to his study, where he poured himself a very stiff drink.

Had he missed something with that case – perhaps he should re-open it. Or, at least, try to find Charlotte Lucas and hear what she had to say.

Then maybe he would find out who that girl was.


	5. Chapter 5

Catherine, blushing, had handed Elizabeth her phone number and asked her to call if she ever needed a 'Watson'.

As much as she felt she would enjoy spending time with Catherine, there was no way she would put her in danger, and getting her involved in this could only do that.

Elizabeth walked back towards Soho, with the file still clutched in her hands. She hoped she seemed casual, but the adrenaline put a jumpy step in her walk which she felt made her stand out. Of course, in Soho she didn't stand out at all - in fact, she looked like one of the most normal people there. But her own heightened heartbeat prevented her from realising this.

She didn't dare open it until she was safely in the darkness of her small room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, reading the report by the light of her small window, she was disappointed at first to see nothing she didn't already know. The testimony of Charlotte's aunt, as well as primitive details about her family and an interview with her father. She flicked through it until she reached the last page.

The last page held a single testimony.

_Charlotte was tired of her life, as far as she had told me she lived in some little countryside backwater. I hadn't known her very long. We met at Militia, she was nice – a cool chick. She came here to stay with some aunt, doing research for some fashion paper. She met this guy called Will and they fell in love, fell hard - don't know a last name. She said her parents wouldn't approve so they decided to elope together, I think she said Scotland? I don't care what her family tell you. She wasn't kidnapped by anyone._

At the top read '_Testimony of John Thorpe, 02/09/1968_'

A neatly written page of notes had been folded behind the testimonies, stating that the case boiled down to nothing more than parents who could not accept the filial disobedience of their oldest child.

Questions started to bubble up within Lizzy in a way that she did not like.

Would Charlotte have left without saying goodbye? Perhaps she was blind to some truth, but deep down she couldn't imagine Charlotte abandoning them all like this. Elizabeth determined to continue her search for Charlotte. If she found her, and it transpired Charlotte did not want to be found, then she would leave her be. No matter how much it destroyed her to let go.

The page of notes was signed by Detective Chief Inspector Fitzwilliam Darcy, and for the first time since she had heard his final shout out the window of Scotland Yard, she thought about him. Going in she had been determined to hate him, but when she thought about the way he had caught her in his arms something within her couldn't quite feel it.

The way he had looked at her when she joked about him putting her over his knee made her shiver slightly.

Bastard.

She felt he should have at least tried to find Charlotte to check there had been no foul play, but she understood better now why he had dismissed the case. Charlotte's parents must have known about it, so why did they not tell them? Or had they, like Elizabeth, sensed that something was wrong.

Or had they been too ashamed to admit possible truth.

Charlotte had always longed for the quiet life, but even Elizabeth had known that Charlotte wanted a quiet life away from her family. Not that she didn't love them, but Elizabeth could relate all too well to the need for freedom – especially from your family.

That had been partly why she had suggested Charlotte come to London.

Hot guilt threatened to overcome her again, and she lay back on her bed – staring up at the ceiling.

She had though it would be good for Charlie to come to London. Charlotte worked for a local magazine based in Meryton, so Lizzy had convinced her to go in order to experience new things that she could write about when she got back. She hoped it would make her smile again.

That nasty voice that had been growing louder and louder every day, lurking in the back of her mind, began to whisper again.

_It's your fault she's gone. If something bad has happened to her, it's because of you._

That night she got a job at the popular but seedy bar Militia, nestled among the red lights. She couldn't imagine why Charlotte had spent time in a place like this. As far as she could tell the red light trickled into the back rooms of the club itself, although she herself would have nothing to do with that side of the business.

She was just there to pour drinks and keep her nose to herself.

Well, she could do one of those things.


	6. Chapter 6

Militia was slightly bearable on a Monday afternoon, because even in this particular bar Monday afternoon was a time of recovery and regret. It was the deadest of graveyard shifts, and Elizabeth had taken it because it was easier to snoop and sneak when the place was empty.

One or two regulars sat hunched over their drinks, but they weren't concerned with her. The first few shifts, both at night, had been an eye-opening experience of neon disrepute. She had been grabbed, fondled, cursed at – and she was one of the ones the customers weren't allowed to touch, not that her manager really cared. He had more to do than babysit her, or so he had informed her on her first day. She could look after herself though, and while he didn't babysit her – he hadn't minded the black eye she had given one particularly grabby patron.

In fact, he had given her some excellent pointers on fist trajectory for 'the next time she needed it'.

As she stood behind the empty bar, she knew she should probably have been wiping tables of washing mugs, but feeling that both tasks were a slightly lost cause she instead decided to write a letter to her older sister. She had been neglecting to write; and she knew Jane would worry if she didn't hear from her soon.

Jane was a mystery to her younger sister in many ways.

She was truly good, with never a bad word to say to or about anyone. She was beautiful, lovely, sweet, kind – and all the other synonymous adjectives that went with them.

And yet… she was a lawyer.

Going on her own experiences with lawyers, if you had asked Elizabeth Bennet when she was fifteen to describe a lawyer, it would have been everything Jane was not. Something more akin to a shark than to a bunny rabbit. When Jane had announced she would be studying law at Cambridge, having never told anyone in the family (including Elizabeth) that she had even applied, Lizzy had had to reassess her image of the sharks.

People in Meryton had been surprised. It was rare for a woman to attend law school, normally girls as sweet and beautiful as Jane went to secretarial college, and then married before they had the chance to use anything they might learn there.

Yet she had done it, and done it spectacularly well – as Lizzy had known she would. She had moved back to Meryton to work at the small lawyer's office there, bigger firms being more reluctant to take women on.

If Elizabeth could be half the woman Jane was, she would be very happy.

She was pondering this thought when three large and angry men opened the door and walked in, heading behind the bar and up the little flight of stairs to an ominous door that Elizabeth had been forbidden to enter on her first day. As her manager did not stop them, she instead tried desperately to listen to their conversation as it passed by her.

'He's angry. This is not a man you want to make angry. He's killed his own wife, he won't be afraid to have W knocked off too.'

When she was leaving that evening, she heard the voices still muttering in the backroom like angry wasps in their nest. Was the man Thorpe among them? Did they know the mysterious Will? Who was angry and who was 'W'?

These questions buzzed through her head, distracting her. The result was that she put her foot straight into a puddle that had been lying at the bottom of Militias dirty stoop. She was about to let out a curse when –

_**THUMP**_

A body pelted into her with the force of a bullet. A tangle of limbs, groans and general gasps for air kept them occupied for all of two seconds, before the handsome man detached himself from her. Yells of "Get him!" and "He's over there!" startled her, and the man it would seem – because he gripped her hand and took off again.

They flew between winding lanes and under flickering streetlights. It wasn't yet late enough that these streets were filled with the dark side of Soho, shadows who still lay sleeping. The moon had not yet risen high enough for them to be wandering the dark streets again – hungry for things that would leave even Elizabeth (with her generally strong constitution) nauseous.

They ran until they reached a wall which he climbed over, an act in which Elizabeth quickly followed suit. Now in some sort of small beer garden filled with bins of empty bottles, too cold to be used tonight, they hid silently as they heard the confused yells and stomping feed of the men pass them by.

The man, after waiting until they had definitely disappeared, slumped back with a roughish smile and a sigh of relief.

'Sorry about that darling.'

'Don't darling me, what did you drag me with you for?'

'Err… well – the men chasing me aren't the kind of men I would want to leave a young woman alone with.'

'I think they were far too concerned with you to be much bothered about me.'

'I mean, you did jump over this wall with me.'

He seemed sheepish now, roughish smile replaced by averted eyes.

'Yeah, well by that point we had been running together long enough for them to be bothered with me.'

He considered this, looking slightly regretful.

'I'm very sorry, I didn't really think about it. I suppose I didn't want to risk leaving a damsel behind.'

Lizzy snorted at the use of the word damsel in a very un-damsel like way, before sighing and slumping down next to him.

'Don't worry about it, I'll just think of it as good practice.'

'Good practice?'

'Yeah.'

'What? Do you find yourself running for your life often?'

'Yes.'

He laughed slightly, apparently trying to gauge how serious she was being. He seemed to decide that he didn't care and reached out his hand to her with a warm smile.

'I'm James by the way. James Fitzwilliam.'

'Elizabeth Bennett.'

They took each other's hand and shook them good-naturedly.

'So, Bennett, why do you find yourself running for your life so often?'

'Actually, I think it's my right to ask you that first. Who were those men?'

He paused a few moments before answering slowly.

'Well, it's sort of a favour for my cousin.'

'This seems like quite a big favour, considering the company it means you have to keep.'

He smiled slightly.

'The company doesn't seem that bad at the moment.'

She raised an eyebrow at him, which made him laugh once before a small frown appeared on his lovely face.

'Well, I'd do anything for Georgiana – she's more of a sister than a cousin.'

_Hi guys! Hope you have enjoyed this chapter. I'm sorry it has taken me so long to upload again, but I have been in Canada (beautiful country) and unfortunately didn't have much access to the internet. Please let me know what you think! - Martha_


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